I Dwell in a Lonely House
by Mara Greengrass
Summary: “I've heard of phantom limbs,” the Doctor muttered, “but phantom telepathy is ridiculous.”


TITLE: I Dwell in a Lonely House   
SUMMARY: "I've heard of phantom limbs," the Doctor muttered, "but phantom telepathy is ridiculous"  
CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: Well, there's a spoiler for the end of "Army of Ghosts," but I'm not sure precisely when this takes place. Time is relative, after all.  
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to the BBC. I just fantasize about them.  
NOTES: For Medie on her birthday, 7/16/06. Azar was kind enough to provide a plotbunny when I was flailing.

* * *

The itch in the back of his skull was unbearable. The Doctor twitched as he tried to block the strange feeling again, without much success.

"I've heard of phantom limbs," he muttered, "but phantom telepathy is ridiculous."

Scratching the back of his head didn't help, but he did it again anyway.

"Even worse," the Doctor said, "I'm talking to myself!" The itch seemed to dig deeper into his brain and he absently punched the last button to set the TARDIS on a new course. The time rotor wheezed and began its normal up and down rhythm.

Mumbling something about a cup of tea and meditation time, the Doctor wandered out of the console room as his ship followed a faint signal, the merest trace of a whiff at the very edge of its senses.

* * *

When the Doctor came back an hour later, the TARDIS was hovering with an expectant air in an empty bit of space over 1000 light years and 700 actual years from where he'd intended.

"What's this, then?" he asked. "I can't even plot a course?"

He reached for the controls but his attention was caught by an anomaly. "That's funny. Energy doesn't just float there. It's got to come from something, go somewhere."

Itch in his head forgotten, he delved into an analysis with gusto, flipping switches and dashing around the console with his usual verve. "Almost got you," he said with glee. "If I can just pin...down..."

His voice trailed off as he stared at the screen. "No. It can't be."

The energy signature was unmistakable.

"Artron energy," the Doctor said, his voice cracking on the words. "That's impossible. Nobody uses artron energy except--"

Clutching the edge of the console, his mind raced as he worked out a plan to reach the source of that signal. It was dangerous, it might drain the TARDIS if he did it wrong, and he had no choice.

He had to know.

The Doctor threw himself to the floor and started rooting through the console base, looking for a specific connector.

* * *

Some immeasurable time later, he stared at a contraption attached to the console that even by his own standards was precarious. Caution dictated he leave and find better resources somewhere, but his life had never been dictated by caution before this.

Grinning, he patted the top of the machine, careful not to dislodge the dimensional translator. "Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained." And with a flourish, he flipped a switch.

For a long moment, nothing happened and his eyebrows shot up. "Hmm, I--"

The TARDIS shook hard enough to knock him off my feet and he grabbed a railing, pulling himself up to watch a gauge. "C'mon," he said as the numbers slowly, so slowly, rose. There was one last great shudder and the ship stilled. Closing his eyes, the Doctor took a deep breath, then looked up at the monitor.

There was nothing.

He frowned in confusion before shaking his head and flipping the last switch on the contraption.

An oval container now floated in space a thousand yards away. With a few deft strokes, the Doctor coaxed the TARDIS to materialize around the box, and it soon stood near a roundel-covered wall.

He raised an eyebrow as he realized that the box had instantly adapted to the TARDIS' internal temperature. "Well now, that's certainly very interesting," he said, circling it.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and placed his hand along a curve, only somewhat surprised to find it had reached Time Lord body temperature. His handprint momentarily stood out in sharp relief, a bright orange against the burnished copper finish, before fading away.

Into the silence there was an anticlimactic click and the top swung open, making him jump back. A cloud of white steam or smoke billowed out, and he waved it away, his eyes blinking and unable to see.

When it cleared...

Her blonde hair was curled and styled rather than long and straight as he remembered it, but the mischief in her opening eyes was the same, despite the heavy duties she had taken on since leaving his side.

Her mind touched his and identification was immediate, although she'd never seen this regeneration.

"Miss me?" Romana asked, sitting up carefully and swinging her legs over the side.

"I..." He was speechless, head feeling like it might explode from the emotions crowding it.

Reaching out, she gently touched his cheek and he allowed her to search for the information she needed.

"Oh. Gallifrey's destroyed." She closed her eyes for a moment. "You didn't know--you thought we were all gone."

"I knew you were all gone," he corrected.

Romana patted his shoulder. "Did you really think the Daleks were the only ones who had the foresight to build Void Ships?"

The Doctor shook his head, mute.

"I wanted to stay to the end, but Spandrell demanded that he be allowed to protect the Lady President." Her eyes darkened with her own memories. "I don't know how many others--"

"Others?" Both hearts skipped a beat.

"Naturally." Romana nodded firmly. "There are other ships like mine in the Void, we simply need to find them."

"Others."

Romana patted the area next to her and the Doctor managed to sit down. "Others, Doctor," she said. "You were never really alone."

--end--


End file.
